Medea's Opus
by Charlotte Temples
Summary: Hermione's feelings of insignificance are dulled after she is kid-napped and learns through a series of strange events that she may be the ultimate key to stopping Voldemort once and for all. HGSS non-HBP or DH compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Clearly.

A/N: This story is non-DH and (mostly) non-HBP compliant. Reviews are appreciated. Please no flames.

Chapter One

They'd known each other since childhood but now, only a year after they finished Hogwarts, it suddenly seemed as if there were a great distance between Hermione and Ron, though only she was aware of it.

Sitting across from one another at an outdoor café in Diagon Alley, Hermione tried to ignore the awkward silence between them as she appreciated the beautiful summer day. Ginny's leaving ceremony had brought them all together for the first non-Order related time in months, and Hermione's loneliness had briefly been broken as the Golden Trio was reunited once again. Harry and Ron had changed dramatically since the end of their seventh year, and with the searing war and the hard-knock Auror training they were going through, neither had time to write more than a hurried letter or even to pay a quick visit to the third member of their little clan.

This was made especially difficult with Hermione and Ron's continued pursuance of their ongoing relationship, though Hermione was becoming distinctly aware of the fact that what once had been an overwhelming and broiling passion between them was now a faint simmer. And though she had suggested they take a break more than once, in order to pursue their own careers, Ron had desperately clung to the only stable person in his life and remained amazingly blind to the staleness of their relationship. His lack of insight was beginning to annoy her.

"I forgot to tell you, Ginny sent me an owl the other day," he finally said, looking up from the cup of tea he'd been staring into as if seeking answers for the past few minutes.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, regretting her decision to wear a thin, romantic dress that she hadn't even been complimented on. She could feel every inch of the black metal patio chair beneath her bum and it was starting to go numb.

"Oh, and how is she?"

"She's doing well. She's in Asia studying the properties of the heartstring of a Chinese Fireball," he replied, brightening up considerably now that they were conversing.

Hermione had been more than envious when Ginny received a letter from Mr. Ollivander himself, requesting that Ginny accompany him as an apprentice on a tour of the world. Apparently Horace Slughorn had been talking about Ginny's bravery and knack for charms and impressed the wandmaker enough to want to pass down his art to her. Hermione would give anything to have that apprenticeship. Working under Percy Weasley in the Department of International Magical Cooperation was becoming more and more torturous as the months went on.

"That's wonderful. I'm very happy for her," Hermione tried to sound genuine, but couldn't help the tinge of sadness to her voice. She missed her devilish little red-headed friend, especially since now the only girl she had to talk to was Luna, who had picked up a job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Though Luna's presence was comforting enough, Hermione was still having a hard time adjusting to her oddities, and found herself biting her tongue whenever Luna said something that deserved a firm lesson in biology and reading standards.

"She'll be back by Christmas. Dad says mum's been sulking around the house all day with no children to cook for when you aren't visiting. She must be pretty… _forceful_, when you're around."

Forceful wasn't the word for it. Molly and Arthur had quickly adopted Hermione as a surrogate child after she sent her parents away into hiding. With a suddenly very quiet, very empty Burrow, they were suddenly inventing excuses for Hermione to come over. She didn't mind. The little cottage she'd purchased in Ottery St. Catchpole was pretty and in walking distance from the Burrow, but it tended to get eerily quiet at night, something that she didn't care with during such tense times.

"She tried getting me drunk on firewhiskey the other day so that I wouldn't go home," Hermione informed him with a smile as Ron began laughing and shaking his head. "But when I didn't want any more, she put up quite a fuss. I felt obliged to spend the night in Ginny's room just to calm her down."

"Well you know how my mum is. She doesn't like the idea of you sitting alone in that cottage all day; none of us do. Why don't you at least come to stay with me and Harry in London for a while?"

Hermione tried not to wrinkle her nose at the thought of the boys' flat, which she'd only seen once. There was clothing, various food cartons, and trash everywhere. She'd go doolally just trying to clean up after them every day. Not that they'd be around much, Auror training meant that they barely spent enough time in their flat to trash it before going back out again, which Hermione quickly pointed out.

"I'd be just as alone there as I am at the cottage," she added sadly.

"Yes, but at least you'd be alone somewhere… else," Ron replied nonsensically. Hermione frowned at him as he turned red.

"Ron, what are you going on about?" she demanded as the red head focused on his tea once more.

"Nothing 'Mione. I just don't like the idea of you sitting all alone in that house in the middle of nowhere," he insisted, though Hermione's frown didn't disappear. She didn't bother pointing out that 'the middle of nowhere' was where he'd grown up. Instead, her mind jumped to what all of their arguments had been about lately.

"Is this about sex?" she asked, saying the dreaded word in a whisper so the witches and wizards nearby wouldn't know what they were talking about. They were being gawked at enough, it was often that two members of the Golden Trio were seen out and about without some sort of armed guard. Hermione had insisted that whenever they went on one of their awkward little dates no one accompanied them. Besides, she and Ron were more than capable of taking care of themselves.

Ron's face turned an even brighter shade of red, if it were possible, "No! You know that's not the only thing I think about!"

Hermione and Ron had only gone at it once, and it had been so awkward and Hermione had been so mortified that she was almost keen on the idea of becoming a nun just to avoid the whole idea of sex. Even Ron had admitted that it hadn't gone very well, though (to make matters worse) it hadn't been to Hermione, but in a private conference with Harry, who had related the conversation to a fuming Hermione a few days later out of pity. What had started as an innocent move from Harry to let 

Hermione know that Ron was still willing to make a go of it even though 'the sex had been trash' had become an ongoing argument between the two about Ron's inability to keep private matters private. This wasn't the first time that Harry had let it slip that Ron told him more about their love life than was necessary.

Hermione surveyed Ron's faced intently before speaking, "Then _what _is it about, Ronald?"

Her bossy voice made him wince and though his blush had cooled considerably, Hermione could see anger slowly building up in his eyes. She mentally braced herself for yet another long argument.

"All I want for you is to be safer, is that so much to ask? You always think so little of me! Is it impossible for me to have good intentions? I don't like the idea of you being all alone somewhere that people wouldn't immediately know if something had happened to you!" his voice was just one level below shouting and Hermione looked around in embarrassment at all of the bemused witches and wizards who were now staring at them.

"Please calm down," she begged him in a whisper, but it seemed only to infuriate Ron even more. He stood up from his seat abruptly, the chair falling to the cobblestones with a loud clang that drew even more eyes.

"We'll talk later. I have to go," he informed her, dropping a few sickles on the table before leaving. Hermione stared at the silvery coins with watery eyes. When was the fighting going to stop? She hated this. They would fight for days, and then for a while their relationship would suddenly be amazing as they worked harder to make each other happy, but the happiness never lasted long enough. Before she could get used to the good side of their relationship, the fighting would start up again.

Alone again, Hermione hurriedly paid the bill, apologizing to their server who nodded understandingly and patting her on the back, "It's okay, sweetie. We all go through rough patches. I'm sure you two will be back together in no time."

The words weren't necessarily comforting, but Hermione recognized the kindness behind them and thanked the witch, leaving behind an extra big tip as she hurried back onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

Ron had probably apparated back to his flat, and Hermione wasn't planning on following him. He'd cool down in a few days, and by next week he'd write Hermione a messily scrawled letter that wouldn't offer an apology of any kind, but would give her some kind of update on his and Harry's life, which she would obviously appreciate more than any conjured sentiments.

She should probably be heading home, herself. It wasn't safe for _anyone _to be out alone during these troubled times, but especially not her. But rather than apparating back to her cottage and spending a few hours relaxing before heading over to the Burrow for dinner, Hermione decided to treat herself to a little shopping extravaganza at Flourish and Blott's. It had become a regular habit for her to do impulsive shopping after an argument with Ron, and her house was now almost overflowing with books and unneeded furniture. Two hours later, armed with a book on fifteenth century magic in central South America and a huge tome entitled 'Extremely Advanced Arthimancy Practices for Extremely Advanced Arthimancers', Hermione finally returned to her cottage.

Settled far back in the woods with a long, winding gravel driveway, the cottage was a simple one floor affair with ivy growing up its walls and windows framed by storm shutters. On the inside, it was all warm woods, thick area rugs, and glass-fronted dressers filled with jars of potion ingredients. Not to mention an incredible amount of bookshelves, at least one in every room except for the loo, where Hermione banned all books except for when she was taking an exceptionally long bubble bath. Though she'd only lived in the little house for a year now, she'd already made it her own and reveled in the cluttered neatness and hominess of the place. She was more than relieved when she finally apparated into the neatly laid out garden she'd spent all winter planning, marching into her home and setting the brown-paper covered books on the dining room table.

Something brushed against her legs and Hermione screeched in surprise, only to realize that Crookshanks was welcoming her home, "Oh, hello. Do you want something to eat?"

The half-kneazle seemed less than interested in eating and instead gave her an odd look and trotted off into the living room, Hermione following after him as his big fluffy tail disappeared from beyond the doorway. On instinct, her wand was out and in her hand before she entered the room, especially at the sound of something moving and Crookshanks hissing a warning.

Hermione took a deep breath, slowly making her way around the corner and into her living room, a curse right on the tip of her tongue. Amber eyes stared at her impertinently and Hermione momentarily froze up, caught completely off guard.

There was an owl perched on her winged-back arm chair. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and crept up to the owl, unsure exactly how it had gotten into her house when she secured every window, door and ward before she left. Any curiosity and worry, however, was discarded when she realized it was a letter from Ginny. Hermione's heart jumped in excitement as she opened the thick parchment envelope, eager to hear from her friend after so long apart.

_ Dear Hermione,_

_ Greetings and salutations from Sichuan! Mr. Ollivander and I are currently staying in Deyang City with a wizarding family that has graciously taken us in before our real journey begins. The city is stunning, not even comparable to anywhere in England, and the people are very polite, though it's a little hard to keep up with the social norms. Yesterday, I forgot to take my trainers off before I entered the household and Mr. Deng seemed rather offended, though he didn't do much more than gesture for me to take my shoes off. I can't say that their superstitions are particularly worse than the ones we have, but they're certainly very different. Mum would probably appreciate the shoes thing, though; it would save her a lot of cleaning. I'm carefully going to omit this custom in my letter to her; I don't want her getting any ideas. Mr. Deng had been very polite when I forgot to take off my shoes, but mum would bite my head off. _

_ The dragon in question has been terrorizing some of the smaller Sichuan villages nestled near the Himalayas for centuries now, and Mr. Ollivander believes that it must've made its home inside of a crevasse there. Naturally, we will not be climbing the mountains, they're much steeper and more dangerous on the Chinese side, and we would've been better off going to Nepal if that were the plan, in order to tackle the mountains from the safer side. Instead, we'll be setting up a camp near one of the villages and simply waiting for the dragon to show up. I'm not sure what Mr. Ollivander plans on doing from there. The Chinese version of the ministry has a department specifically for handling dragons, but they've mucked up the Chinese Fireball population so badly that I don't think Mr. Ollivander will kill it, just in a small effort to preserve the species. I suppose we'll try to stun the dragon and he'll demonstrate how to remove dragon heartstrings (without actually doing it, of course). I don't understand why we couldn't have done it with a Welsh Green, so we wouldn't have to do so much travelling, but I suppose he wants to show me the harder parts of being a wandmaker before really bringing me to the technical side of it.  
_

_ I can't believe how excited I am over all of this! I never dreamed that I, Ginny Weasley, cast off of the Boy Who Lived, could be the next great wand maker. I'd never even considered it before! _

_ I'll try to write to you more often, Mr. Deng is loaning us an owl to take with us on our excursion, though I think it's to send out word if the worst should happen to one of us, more than anything. There's so much to see and do around here and we aren't even in Hong Kong. Maybe I can find a camera at one of the underground wizarding shops so you can experience it along with me. I'm sure Mr. Ollivander would approve. _

_ Write back soon, I'm missing you dreadfully!_

_ Love,_

_ Ginny_

Hermione smiled as she finished the letter, able to overcome the slight bitterness and 'why her?' feeling in order to feel genuine happiness for her friend. After Harry had dumped Ginny, Hermione had a hard time of it keeping a good balance between both of her best friends, and sometimes she felt like she hadn't give Ginny the kind of comfort she deserved. The red-head had sulked and mooned over Harry for so long, and had him for just long enough to realize all of her dreams were coming true, before he was snatched away by his own sense of duty and his protectiveness of her. Hermione had no idea what that could feel like. She was just glad that this new distraction may be just enough to get Ginny out of the ditch she'd dug herself into.

Hermione put down the letter with a wistful smile on her face, quickly scribbling back a response as the owl ate some bread and drank from a bowl of water that she brought it. She was careful to keep out any mentions of her arguing with Ron, especially today's rather ridiculous row. The last thing Ginny needed right now was to hear anything depressing, especially while she was still riding on the high of her latest success. Finished with its food, the owl waited impatiently for her to finish writing before flying off with the parchment tied to its foot, heading off for yet another long journey into Asia. Hermione hoped it reached Ginny before they headed for the Himalayas, or the owl might never find them.

Hermione settled down on her couch, absorbing herself in the book on 15th century South American magic and trying to forget about how poorly her date with Ron had gone. By the time she was scheduled to head over to the Weasley's she had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Almost.

"Come in Hermione, dear!" Molly greeted her with an enveloping hug. When she pulled away, she realized she'd gotten flour all down Hermione's front and cleaned it off with a quick wave of her wand. "Come and have a seat at the table. Dinner should be ready in just a minute!"

Arthur was already seated, reading the evening edition of the daily prophet with a sour look on his face, "Mollywobbles I just _cannot stand_ this Robin Mathers. You'd swear he'd never even heard of any of these battles we've been fighting, or the attacks on muggles. He's a regular Rita Skeeter, if you ask me."

He hadn't noticed Hermione's entrance, and she bit back a smile at his nickname for his wife. Molly cleared her throat and Arthur looked over his newspaper, seemingly not surprised to see that Hermione had arrived.

"Ah, hello, Hermione! Have you read the evening edition yet today?" he asked, handing off the newspaper to her as Hermione sat down and Molly bustled back into the kitchen. On the front cover in big words it said: 'Dumbledore Dishes Deleterious Disparagement of Doubtful Director!'. Hermione was starting to hate alliteration; it meant that one of the most putrid steaming piles of anti-Harry pro-Fudge sentiment was writing front page material once more.

"No, but I imagine I can already guess what it says: Harry's a liar, Dumbledore's a nutter, and we're all just conspirators against the Ministry, never mind that a good deal of us work for the damned place."

"So you've already read this article?" Arthur replied sarcastically and took the newspaper back from Hermione. A picture of a cheerful and waving Cornelius Fudge donned the front cover and Hermione glared bitterly at the much-hated face.

"It's what every article in the paper says these days," Hermione said dejectedly as she sat back in her seat. "I can't decide who's slander is worse: Rita Skeeter's gossip-mongering or Robin Mathers' sheer idiocy. Whenever I see someone reading the paper I just want to smack them with it."

"Chin up, dear," Molly assured her cheerfully. "It'll all turn around in no time. Once people realize that there really is a war brewing right under their noses, they'll all buck up and do the right thing."

"Exactly," Arthur backed his wife up and tossed the newspaper onto the shelf behind him. "Now, no need to talk of serious matters. This isn't an Order meeting, this is a nice, family dinner. So…"

Molly set a mouth-watering meat pie down onto the table and began serving pieces to both Arthur and Hermione, spooning boiled potatoes covered with butter onto the side as well. Hermione suddenly realized why Ron always ate with such veracity. The delicious food at Hogwarts was nothing like what Molly served at home.

"So," Molly continued where her husband trailed off. "You got the day off of work, dear? How nice. Ron said you two were going to meet at Diagon Alley."

Hermione nodded vigorously, carefully swallowing her mouthful of potatoes before answering, "Yes, I'd already gotten all of the information on the French Ministry prepared for the councilors' perusal, so they didn't need me in today. I'll be attending the meeting tomorrow with the Minister's liaison and the French minister himself to settle some of the trouble we've been having."

"What trouble is that, dear?" Molly asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"The French have been harboring fugitives," Arthur answered for Hermione. "It's been a big to-do around the office. The Aurors are practically spitting poison, they're so mad."

"And, of course, the truce we made after the Hundred Years War means that we can't send any Aurors into the country without permission, which we won't get," Hermione added. "The Minister has 

been worried that it could start another battle between the English and the French, even though our foreign relations have been rather good lately."

"Ha! The French! That's who they're worried about?" Molly seemed genuinely amused. "If Bill's girlfriend is any indication as to what the French wizarding society is like, then we've nothing to fear. Why would the Minister be so worried about the French with You-Know-Who on the rise once more?"

"He still doesn't believe, Molly," Arthur reminded his wife patiently. "And he won't until Voldemort is sitting in his office, holding Fudge at wandpoint. Obviously, by then, it would be too late."

Hermione had never heard Arthur say 'Voldemort' before and realized the seriousness of his statement. Molly, however, didn't seem to like this idea and waved her hand dismissively at Arthur before concentrating more fully on her meat pie. Hermione tucked in as well, finding herself surprisingly hungry despite the stress of the day. By the time that their plates were cleaned (after a second helping, along with a third that was forced on her by Molly) Hermione was ready for a long nap, but managed to keep herself awake as she followed the Weasleys into the sitting room and took her place on one of the over-stuffed sofas.

"You know, with times like these, Hermione, you really can't be too careful," Arthur informed her, putting a warm hand on her knee and squeezing it with a reassuring smile. "And Molly and I have been talking. We think it would be safer for you if you came to stay with us."

Taken off guard, Hermione gaped at him for a moment. Finally she managed to get out a choked "What?"

"There's plenty of room!"Molly reassured her with a big smile. "The house is empty without the children and you can have any room you want, though I don't recommend taking Fred and George's old room, we still haven't gotten all of the scorch marks off of the ceiling."

"I really don't think—," Hermione started, but was cut off by Arthur, whose voice had gotten louder in order to talk over her.

"It is completely necessary, Hermione," he told her insistently. "During times like these, you are one of the main targets for the Death Eaters. You-Know-Who will not be merciful, especially not to you. He would—he would do unthinkable things to you, just for fun. And _then _he'd begin to work on you for information about the Order. It just isn't safe for you out there in your cottage."

"But it's completely safe!" Hermione replied, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline the more Arthur spoke. "I've set up some very powerful wards over my house, some that I invented myself. No Death Eaters will get through _that_."

"But if You-Know-Who cares to, he can do it himself," Molly reminded her. "At least promise me you'll think about it. I can't stand to lose another to this horrible war."

Molly and Sirius had done nothing but argue in the weeks up to his death, but Hermione had known that Mrs. Weasley had a soft-spot for Harry's godfather. If she didn't, she wouldn't care enough to argue with him. Though his death hadn't hit anybody nearly as hard as it had Harry, Hermione had found Molly weeping in the cupboard more than once afterwards. And when Fudge had refused to admit he was wrong about both the reemergence of Voldemort and the innocence of Sirius, it had been Molly who had called the most viciously for his impeachment. Unfortunately, the Ministry was no longer about right and wrong any more. Even the optimistic Hermione could see the spreading blackness beginning at the heart of the ministry. Soon, there wouldn't be a single department left untouched by greed and corruption. By then, Hermione planned on being long-gone from the Department of International Wizarding Cooperation.

"I'll think about it, I promise," Hermione stated plainly, looking Molly in the eye to show she wasn't lying.

Seemingly satisfied by her answer, the Weasleys changed onto lighter topics, talking about Harry's success in the Auror training program, and Ron's ongoing fight with one of his superiors. Molly's eyes welled a bit when Hermione brought up Ginny's trip to China, though Arthur seemed proud. They even spoke briefly about Percy, who Hermione saw often with her position. The tenseness of the room had evaporated by the time Molly started making ice cream sundaes, blabbering happily on about Charlie's upcoming visit, and Hermione finished her visit on a high note, her usual concerns pushed far back into the corners of her mind as she apparated back to her cottage, missing the luxury of long walks in this time of danger.

By the time she'd passed through the wards of her house and made it to the front door, Hermione was absolutely knackered and couldn't wait to get some sleep before work in the morning. Crookshanks was nowhere to be found as she kicked off her shoes and walked into her bedroom, only to notice that something was wrong.

Somebody was already there.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not making any money off of this story, this is just for fun.

Chapter Two

Hermione woke up to such utter darkness that it seemed almost solid. There was a billow of wind and for a moment the darkness was broken up as streaks of sunlight burst through gently shifting curtains, thought it returned with a vengeance the moment the wind settled once more. The brief glimpse of the room gave her no clues as to where she was, though the stone walls and floor were peculiar and reminded her of Hogwarts. Even stranger, Hermione seemed to have been placed on a bed, and she wasn't bound.

Carefully, she sat up, listening for signs of another person in the room, the stillness of the salty air quickly making it apparent that she was alone. Sighing thankfully, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache was beginning to build up and squeezed her eyes shut.

_I wish I wasn't here. I wish I wasn't here. I wish I wasn't here. _

No amount of wishing was going to get her out of the bedroom. Hermione was going to have to do that herself. Wandless and feeling extremely vulnerable, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the stone floor beneath her sandals grounding her even more than her logic. Where was she? Who had her? Why hadn't she been tied up?

Hermione took one step and her foot hit open air. She didn't have time for a screech of surprise before she hit the stone floor, and laid splayed there for several minutes, one foot still up on the step she hadn't seen in the brief moment of sunlight. Apparently the bed was on a raised platform. Hermione sat up and touched her bruised lip, her fingers coming away wet.

_I must've split it when I hit the floor, _she realized as a coppery taste flooded her mouth, which made her scowl unpleasantly as she picked herself back off of the floor. _First things first: I need to get those curtains open. _

Walking gingerly to avoid any more unforeseen collisions, Hermione shuffled her way to the curtains, nearly tripping over a trunk at the foot of the bed, but she managed to find her way past it after a few moments of silent deliberation.

The windows couldn't be much further now. Hermione raised her arms in front of her like a blind man, searching for the wall and a few steps later, her fingertips met cold stone. After a few more minutes of searching, Hermione found the heavy curtains and pulled them back, nearly blinding herself as the bedroom was filled with sunlight. But it wasn't the bedroom she was looking at: it was the sight beyond the window that had suddenly captivated Hermione.

Wherever she was, it was perched on top of a high cliff, at the bottom of which the ocean roiled violently, tossing up sea spray high enough to make the stones at the top of the cliff slick and dark. From her window, she couldn't see the rest of the castle she was standing in, nor could she see any tell tale strips of land that would indicate she was somewhere in the Channel. A sudden feeling of hopelessness settled over Hermione. She had no idea where she was. It was so rare for her to be completely uninformed about a situation.

Tearing her eyes away from the violently tossing waves, Hermione focused on the room behind her instead. The bed she'd woken up in was indeed on a raised stone platform, and was a huge four-poster made of oak that looked utterly unmovable and quite ancient. A dresser with a tarnished silver mirror was near a wooden door, a porcelain water pitcher and bowl sitting on the scarred surface. A small writing stand with an ink well and quill sat near another window that Hermione hadn't noticed earlier, on the far side of the room from the bed. Other than a ragged rug on the floor, the room looked fairly bare and Hermione felt very small in it. Even more distressing, there wasn't anything inside of it that could protect her from the might of her enemy's wand. Hermione carefully crept across the room and weighed the water pitcher thoughtfully in her hand. She could hide behind the doorway and wait for someone to come in for her and then knock them unconscious with it. Examining the door made Hermione discard this idea: it was already unlocked.

_What is all this? _Hermione wondered, creeping out into the narrow hallway lit by sconces, the water pitcher still in her hand. It wasn't much of a weapon, especially considering that she had no idea where she was going, but at least it was something. Hermione thought back to the moment when she'd realized she wasn't alone in her bedroom. How much time had passed since then? Who had attacked her? All she could faintly remember was a murmured _Stupefy _and the sound of Crookshanks growling as she hit the floor. And now this.

There were no tapestries or paintings on the walls, as if the castle she stood in had been long abandoned, and the stones beneath her feet were worn. Several minutes of walking and she had come across no doors, and no people, but she'd finally found a set of stairs. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione removed her sandals, worried that they'd snap loudly and give away her position as she walked down the steps, leaving them behind seeing as they'd be more of a hindrance if she carried them. Heart pounding loudly, Hermione kept her back the wall as she slowly made her way down the spiraling staircase.

"Don't move," the voice was clear and sharp and Hermione gave a squeak of surprise as a wand tip was pressed to her throat from behind. "You don't need to be so afraid, little Mudblood, I'm not going to kill you."

Hermione would've recognized Lucius Malfoy's voice from anywhere and was hardly surprised to watch him circle around her, wand still at the ready.

"Accio pitcher!" he called, and the water pitcher flew out of her hand and crashed to the steps below, smashing into a thousand pieces. Hermione gulped despite herself and cautiously looked to Malfoy, wondering what his next move would be. "Evanesco."

The shards of porcelain immediately vanished, and Lucius fixed his cold blue eyes on Hermione, a look of warning clearly in them.

"Follow me," he commanded sharply, making his way down the stairs. Seeing no other option, seeing as the cramped stairwell certainly didn't count as a good opportunity of escape, Hermione followed closely behind him, though not close enough for him to reach back and grab her if he so wished to.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, finding the walk down the stairs almost interminable. How could they possibly be that high up, after all? From the window it looked as if the bedroom was only on the third story of the castle.

"To meet with the Dark Lord," Malfoy replied gruffly, clearly uninterested in answering her lowly questions. Hermione, however, had always been a very persistent learner.

Boldness had crept into her voice, "Why am I here?"

"Because you are. Now stop asking questions or I'll make you seriously regret it, I'm trying to concentrate."

"Concentrate on what?" Hermione barely subdued the smirk creeping across the face, knowing that she was driving Malfoy absolutely insane. Maybe he'd try to attack her and she could trip him down the stairs and steal his wand. She picked up the pace. She didn't need to wait for him to attack her to push him.

"Be quiet."

He seemed to be counting the stairs. Hermione was perplexed, but nevertheless, she reached out both hands and pushed as hard as she could. The moment her hands came in contact with Lucius Malfoy's back, he flew forward, taken off guard. He tumbled down the stairs almost comically, turning out of sight with a loud thump and a shout of surprise. Relieved, Hermione continued on her venture, hoping that he'd been knocked unconscious once he reached the bottom, which should be just around the next turn. But the next turn yielded no end to the stairs, nor did it reveal Malfoy's crumpled and unconscious body. Hermione gnawed on her lip with worry. Surely this was some kind of magic. Or maybe an after-effect of the stunner? She was terribly confused at the moment.

"You little idiot," Hermione wasn't confused enough not to recognize Malfoy's voice or the feeling of his wand pressed against her throat, once again from behind her. But how? She turned around, surprised to see Malfoy looking unharmed, though a bit ruffled. "Keep walking. _You _can lead this time."

Hermione was shocked he hadn't killed her on the spot, and fell silent, dutifully continuing on the never-ending venture down the stairs. Behind her, she could practically feel Malfoy's eyes boring into her back. He must be terribly tempted to push her himself, and when Hermione felt his hand on her shoulder, she wasn't remotely surprised. But rather than pushing her forward, he pushed her sideways into the wall.

No, not into the wall—_through _the wall. Hermione stumbled but managed to catch herself before hitting the floor, finding herself suddenly into what was clearly the great hall of the castle, Lucius Malfoy materializing next to her a moment later. It wasn't the strange display of magic that had stunned her but the sight of the being before her. Nestled safely in a well-padded throne, Lord Voldemort looked even more terrifying than Harry's descriptions of him in their fourth year.

The Dark Lord himself was a very tall man—no, not a man, a beast—and impossibly thin, his fine grey robes billowed dramatically on his skeletal frame. His skin wasn't the bone white that Harry had portrayed it to be, but somehow even whiter so that, even from across the room, Hermione could see every vein curled beneath his skin and the outline of every joint in his long fingers. Rather than a nose, he had two, long slits like a snake that expanded and contracted eerily as he breathed, and his eyes were huge and alien, the iris and cornea were both red and his pupils were jagged black slits in the center. Hermione struggled to look away from those eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul.

Surrounding Voldemort were his closest followers. The Lestrange trio was closest, Bellatrix sitting at his feet and Rodolphus and Rabastan standing on either side of the throne with their arms crossed over their broad chests, staring down at her evilly. Wormtail was standing in the corner of the room immediately to Hermione's left, subservient and clearly not a part of the crowd, he was waiting patiently for his master's orders. Dolohov stood close to Rabastan Lestrange, his expression unreadable. Hermione felt a shiver go through her, thinking of the time she'd spent in the hospital after Dolohov had thrown his slashing curse at her in the Department of Mysteries. It had taken a long time to recover from all of the damage he'd done to her. Avery and Mulciber were standing the furthest away from the Dark Lord, other than Wormtail, Avery looking as if he'd gone through a few more rounds of Crucio since the last time Hermione had seen him. She almost found herself pitying the pathetic man. He was just a plaything for the Dark Lord who would be killed and discarded the moment he was deemed 'no longer useful'. It looked like his time was coming up.

There were a few Death Eaters she didn't know the names of, though she remembered their faces from the Department of Mysteries battle. The Carrow siblings leered at her evilly from near the back of the crowd, hard to see over some of the taller members, Crabbe and Goyle looked as if they were trying their hardest to look mean, and beyond them, a face caught Hermione off guard. Severus Snape. It had been years since she'd seen him, not since the invasion of Hogwarts when Dumbledore had nearly been killed. Unlike the others, he didn't look lecherous or evil: he simply looked bored.

"Ah, Miss Granger, so good to see you," Voldemort's voice was silky smooth, the voice of a con artist. Malfoy pushed her forward, deeper into the hall, but to her surprise, didn't force her to kneel. Stubbornly, she stared right at Voldemort, refusing to show weakness. If she were to die, she hoped that news of her strength would reach her friends. "How do you like my home?"

Hermione didn't answer, refusing to look anywhere but those livid red eyes, her jaw set firmly. Voldemort didn't seem angry, but vaguely amused by her reticence.

"Come now, let's not be so grim. What do you think of my home? I know you haven't seen much of it yet, but there really is a marvelous view from your bedroom window," he said, his friendliness somehow seeming even more evil than any torture he could've performed on her. "So tell me, what do you think?"

Bellatrix was clearly losing her patience, and roared, "Answer the Dark Lord, you little twit!"

She'd risen from her spot at Voldemort's feet, her wand in hand, her black tulle skirt swishing at her calves as she glared at Hermione. The latter stared at the walnut wand thoughtfully. Bellatrix would surely be more than happy to kill her. If she didn't answer, she'd probably be killed. If she did, there was a chance they could do even worse to her. Her eyes wandered to Professor Snape, who was staring at her intensely now, and for a brief moment she could read those dark eyes of his. She spoke.

"What is this place?"

Voldemort seemed delighted by her answer and rose from his throne, gesturing for Bellatrix to sit back down. His gait was as smooth as his voice, he looked almost as if he were floating.

"This is the home of Morgan Le Fay. Are you familiar with the name? Of course you are, you are the smart member of the Golden Trio."

Of course Hermione recognized the name of one of the most powerful dark witches in history, bested by Merlin in her times just as surely as Voldemort would be bested by Dumbledore now. It seemed almost fitting that he would pick up exactly where she left off. For years it had been believed that the Island of Avalon where Morgan supposedly reigned was just a myth, but apparently Voldemort had found it at some point.

"We're on Avalon?" she asked in bemusement. The idea hadn't stuck with her yet, but it made sense. Morgan was famous for her paranoia, so the island would have to be unplottable, and the castle itself was bound to have countless spells set into its walls, including the strange stairwell.

The idea of Avalon existing left a strange question floating in Hermione's mind. Sometime in the future, long after the war was over, would Voldemort and Harry be considered nothing more than a legend to portray the eternal struggle of good and evil? Would people simply stop believing in them? Suddenly the voice of Winston Churchill rang in her head.

_Those who fail to learn from history, are doomed to repeat it._

She'd said the same thing once to Ron when he asked her to write an essay for History of Magic for him, but it seemed even more relevant now that she was staring at history repeating itself once again. Hermione suddenly felt very tired. When was all of this going to end?

"Indeed we are, Miss Granger, indeed we are," Voldemort seemed amused by something as he glided towards her, and Hermione instinctively shrunk back, bumping into Malfoy's chest. He gave no sign that he even noticed as Hermione looked back to see if she were about to feel his wrath. In fact, he wasn't even paying attention, his gaze fixed to the left of Voldemort and completely unfocused. What a strange time to zone out.

"How did you find it?" she asked, stalling for time, hoping the conversation didn't take a turn for the worse. Abruptly, Voldemort stopped advancing towards her, turning towards one of the open stained glass windows and taking a long whiff of the salty air that glided in on the warm breeze. The sight, for some reason, made Hermione feel ill.

"I learned about it from that dreadful Professor Binns at Hogwarts," Voldemort said, saying the names as if they tasted bad in his mouth. "The idea of Avalon fascinated me as a teenager, so I decided to look for it when I was an adult."

"The Dark Lord is the only wizard powerful enough to find Avalon!" boasted Pettigrew from the corner, though a harsh look from Voldemort quieted him. Hermione felt her heart go into her throat at the look. For some reason she was surprised Wormtail hadn't been turned to stone at the sheer rage and cruelty hidden within that glare.

"Of course, I kept my discovery a secret, which has worked out for the better, as you can see. Now I have somewhere to stay that even the great Albus Dumbledore could never find, protected by some of the oldest and most powerful wards known to wizard-kind."

He smirked slightly, his thin, almost non-existent lips twisting cruelly. Hermione found it hard to believe that this man had once been the handsome Tom Riddle that Ginny had privately described to her during her third year, when Ginny had finally fully gotten over the shock of possession. Of course, the being in front of her was hardly even human, he'd become so twisted by evil.

"Why am I here?"

"You're a very smart girl, Miss Granger. Why don't you tell me why you're here?" Voldemort countered deftly. When Hermione remained silent, he finally answered her. "You're mine now. Just as all of my followers are mine. You will be my little pet, and you will never be able to leave this island, you are tethered to it."

Hermione suddenly broke out into a cold sweat, her hands fisting at her sides, "Why?"

Voldemort, apparently realizing what Hermione was thinking, laughed. Loudly.

"Oh no, Miss Granger, I'm not going to rape you. I don't lie with Mudbloods. But I also don't much care for the idea of you being on _their _side, the opposing side. You may not realize this, Granger, but you were Harry Potter's one chance of defeating me. And now, with you at my side, he cannot. You won't be harmed as long as you don't try anything stupid, and you'll find us all to be pleasant company so long as you obey the rules."

"What – what rules?" Hermione stuttered, her eyes widening.

"You are allowed free range of the castle, any room you wish to enter, you may. You are also allowed to walk along the grounds, with a guard, as there are a few creatures out there you would not be able to defeat without your wand. Your wand—you will not have it back. I plan on breaking and burning it later this afternoon. I expect you to respect myself and my followers, I do not expect you to be subservient. Do not attack us, and we will not attack you. Do you understand?"

Hermione found the words hard to believe, but nodded nonetheless. Voldemort was the King of Silver Tongues if there ever was one, and she knew that while she would be expected to follow them, there were plenty of Death Eaters standing before her who wouldn't wait for any provocation in order to attack her. Bellatrix, especially, looked rather enraged as the Dark Lord stepped forward and caressed Hermione's cheek with a long, white finger.

"Then we are at an accord. Lucius, you are relieved of your duties. Severus, you may give Miss Granger a tour of the castle. I believe she will find the library particularly of interest."

Professor Snape looked absolutely horrified at the idea of being given the job of tour guide, but nodded placidly a moment later and stepped forward, taking Hermione roughly by the upper arm. Voldemort stopped him, waving his finger with a 'tsk tsk'.

"Be nice to our guest, Severus."

Hermione looked between Voldemort and her former Potions Professor with confusion clearly written on her face. There was definitely more to this story than she was being told. And she desperately wanted to know what it was. However, judging by the look on Professor Snape's face as he led her out of the Great Hall through a doorway behind the throne, Hermione wasn't going to be getting those answers any time soon. But she couldn't resist a few questions.

"How did those stairs work? What kind of enchantment was it?" she immediately questioned, remember Lucius falling out of sight and immediately appearing behind her a moment later. Snape glared at her for a moment before sighing painfully.

"The enchantment you witnessed was created by Morgan Le Fay to confuse any potential attackers. It is just as difficult to go up the stairs as down, because they are stuck in a time loop and you are only released from it on every eighty-eighth step and if you lose count and miss the eighty-eighth step, the loop restarts and you are forced back to the beginning on the one hundred and twentieth step."

"How do you know when you've reached the beginning again?" Hermione asked in confusion. Professor Snape's mouth twitched a bit, as if he were tempted to smile but managed to hold it back.

"Because there's a spell wound in that makes you wonder why the stairwell is so long every time you reach the one hundred and twentieth step."

"That's very strange," Hermione commented for the first time since she'd been introduced to the wizarding world. Snape nodded, as if in agreement.

"There were many enemies of Morgan Le Fay who didn't recognize the pattern and died inside of that time loop. When the Dark Lord reached this island, he himself was nearly trapped. He's lived here years, and yet he still doesn't understand the complex magic Morgan Le Fay wove into that stairwell."

"And only the bedroom can be accessed through it?"

Snape nodded mutely. The door behind the throne led to a little vestibule with three doors leading in different directions. The door they had come through was the north wing of the house, and across from it, the south wing doorway led to the dining room and, beyond it, the kitchens. It was also the easiest exit to access the grounds, seeing as most of the castle was built right on a cliff of Avalon. The door on the left, the east wing, led to the Death Eaters' bed chambers, which Severus expressively informed her were not a wise place to venture. And the door on the right, well that was the most important one, at least to Hermione it would be. Beyond a lush and luxurious sitting room there was the largest, grandest library she'd ever seen in her entire life, rivaling the library at Hogwarts in every conceivable way. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the floor to ceiling bookcases, twisting stairwells leading to the tops, the huge windows that flooded the room with bright sunlight and provided a magnificent view of the ocean, and the long tables piled with even more books and manuscripts that the bookshelves themselves could not hold. It was as if Voldemort had killed her in the North Wing and she'd reached nirvana in the West.

"As the Dark Lord said, you are free to venture as you wish," Severus reminded her, watching Hermione carefully as she walked further into the room. "There are few but the very stupid who would cross the Dark Lord's orders to leave you unharmed. The Carrow siblings, for example."

"And Bellatrix," Hermione added under her breath, moving to see what was on the tables.

"Ha! Bellatrix Lestrange, what a fool!" came the throaty voice of a woman. Hermione whipped around and was surprised to see a large painting hanging over the doorway of the library, of a woman with brilliant red hair and elaborate clothing, surrounded by magical artifacts. "I've certainly never seen her in _here_, I can tell you that, my dear."

"Bella will not hurt you as long as you do not defame the Dark Lord in her presence. She can be very… possessive of him, when she's in the mood. She will be very vicious towards you, but I doubt she will harm you. It is her master's wish that she does not."

Hermione nodded in understanding, a thought striking her as she turned to look her former Professor in the eye. He glared right back at her, but she did not step down.

"That night, in the tower… were you really going to kill Dumbledore, or did you miss on purpose?" she asked. She remembered the night of the battle clearly as she and Luna attempted to revive Flitwick on the floor of Snape's office as the Potions Master rushed off to join the battle. Hours later, they'd found the still form of Albus Dumbledore on the lawn. But he wasn't dead, though he was close to it. The Killing Curse that Harry had witnessed had missed and Dumbledore had leapt from the tower on his own accord. Unfortunately, news of his survival had reached the papers very quickly, and Hermione was well aware of the punishment the Malfoys had received because of Draco's failure.

"Do you truly think I'd allow the wife of a close friend go through that kind of torture and gruesome death just to save an old man?" Snape hissed in response and Hermione backed down a little, though her eyes never left his.

"Would you?" she questioned, and was taken surprise as he rushed at her, a hand clasping over her mouth as another trapped her wrists behind her back. Snape was standing so close to Hermione at this point that their noses were touching. He sneered down at her.

"Do _not _question my allegiances, Granger. I have made them quite clear since the beginning, and if you are completely blind to them, then you are not the brilliant witch you are hailed as. If you _ever _question my allegiances again, it won't be the Carrows you should be afraid of, it will be _me_," he warned her, his dark eyes boring into her almost painfully. Hermione's eyes unwillingly filled with fearful tears, and she nodded in agreement, releasing a long breath as Snape pulled away from her and left the room.

"Don't cry, dear, he's not going to hurt you so long as you're in _my_ home," the portrait informed her and Hermione looked up at the woman curiously.

"Who are you?"

"Why, I'm Morgan Le Fay, of course. And you must be the very famous Hermione Granger everyone is always talking about around here. Welcome to Avalon."

A/N: Thank you to jessirose85, Sonseehray, sylphides, and LM1991 for their reviews.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own Harry Potter. The brilliant JK Rowling does.

A/N: Don't be afraid to review. You know who you are. 3 CT

Chapter Three

Weeks had passed with no hopes of rescue, and Hermione went through the daily fear and torment of living in the Dark Lord's household. She spent nights sleeplessly waiting for one of the Death Eater's to break their oath to the Dark Lord, and spent the days wandering around Avalon, jumpy and afraid. The only place she ever found solace was in the library, where she was rarely interrupted except for the occasional curious Death Eater and the often long-winded Voldemort. It was odd. She hadn't lost any of her fear of him, but she was certainly beginning to become equally annoyed as she was fearful. The Dark Lord had a tendency towards very long, meaningless speeches that were rather irritating if they were on a pointless topic, and were often so frightening and nerve wracking that Hermione was tempted to throw herself out the window to save herself from the darkness in front of her. More than once she'd looked to the moon from her window at night and prayed to whatever force was out there that Voldemort would just get it over with and kill her already rather than torturing her with this endless _waiting. _He certainly wasn't going to keep her around forever, after all.

On a not-very-spectacular Monday in July, Hermione found herself biding her time in the library as per usual. She was hungry, but had overheard Rodolphus Lestrange and Amycus Carrow conversing in the dining room and had immediately lost her appetite. It had been nearly seventy-two hours since she'd gotten more than an hour's restless sleep, and it'd been more than a day since she'd last eaten. Voldemort hadn't required that she join he and his family for their six o'clock dinners, which she gratefully avoided doing, but it often meant that she forgot to eat or just was too paranoid to go to the kitchens herself and retrieve something.

Her only real source of conversation was Morgan Le Fay, when she was in her portrait, that was. Apparently she had portraits all over the place and she often went off to visit them just to see what was happening in other parts of the world, though she claimed it wasn't nearly as interesting as it sounded. Hermione found herself missing the nonsensical conversations that Luna struck up, often about her campaigning for the assistance of some strange made-up animal or another, such as the bramble eating snarflack, which was apparently native to London where there were, conveniently, no brambles for it to eat. Even another argument with Ron would have been welcome.

Thinking of Crookshanks brought another pang to Hermione's animal-loving heart. She hoped that the Weasleys had taken him in and were feeding him well, doubtlessly they were spoiling him. She missed her cat desperately, especially while laying in bed late at night where his big furry body often leant her some warmth. The castle was chilly, despite the summer sun, and Hermione usually shivered through her nights of sleeplessness.

With nothing else to do, she found herself reading about the Grindelwald War in the 1940's and its parallels to the first war with Voldemort. It was curious to her that the library contained such recent information, but not very surprising. Voldemort was probably very well-read. It made sense that he would keep such a large library, adding onto Morgan Le Fay's already prodigious collection. Besides, he probably wanted to know what he missed while he was out of commission. Someone had made notes in the margins of this book in particular, pointing out inaccuracies, obviously someone who had been involved in the war, though Hermione wasn't sure who. The notes were even more intriguing than the actual text, and she occasionally felt herself letting go and absorbing the information and filing it away the way she normally would.

Her enjoyment, however, was cut short as the door to the library opened unexpectedly and Amycus Carrow walked in. Hermione looked up to Morgan Le Fay's portrait, hoping the enchantress was there but found her gone. Now there was no one to protect her from the lecherous Carrow brother. The squat and odd looking wizard was giving her a big grin, highlighting his several missing teeth. Hermione had to give it to the Dark Lord, he wasn't very picky about his followers. Hadn't he realized that years of inbreeding between the pureblood families would result in genetic monstrosities like the Carrows?

"Ah, there you are, Granger," Amycus stated excitedly, as if he'd been looking for her. Hermione quickly stood from her seat near the window, marking her page and closing the heavy tome, wondering if she could hurl it hard enough to knock the wizard unconscious. She probably couldn't, as she'd had to drag it from one of the piles of books already on the table.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly, trying to give her best disapproving Professor McGonagall look. Carrow was completely unaffected, trundling across the room and effectively placing himself between Hermione and the exit.

"You know, you're not as unattractive as most Mudbloods," he informed her, his Leeds accent rather grating on the ears.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment before trying to sound bored, "What do you want, Amycus?"

To her horror, he reached out a hand, aimed directly towards her chest. Hermione looked behind her to the window, wishing for some kind of escape as she backed further and further away from the sneering wizard. To her great relief, it came in the forms of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

"You can _read_, Amycus?" Malfoy's bored voice took both Hermione and Carrow by surprise, the latter jumping with a rather humorous squeal of surprise. He turned away from Hermione, still standing too close to her for comfort, in order to glare at the blonde Death Eater.

"I don't need to. The Dark Lord teaches me everything I need to know," he informed them as if he'd been practicing the sentence. Perhaps it was something Voldemort made him repeat. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort kept a few Death Eaters that were academically disinclined in order to have a kind of meat shield.

Severus advanced slowly across the room, "Then I don't see why you should be in here."

Hermione shivered in recognition of the voice he was using. It was the one he used every time he threatened her with expulsion during her school years, and whenever he caught she, Ron and Harry doing something suspicious. It was the patented Snape brand Voice of Death.

"I can go wherever I want!" Carrow objected stubbornly and childishly. Malfoy rolled his eyes in boredom.

"Surely that must be true," he agreed sarcastically. "But you cannot _do _whatever you want, Carrow."

"I have no idea what you lot are talking about. We was just having a conversation," Carrow assured them, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I doubt you should be conversing so—intimately—with Miss Granger. The Dark Lord will not approve," Snape reminded the other death eater silkily. Carrow looked back at Hermione before taking a careful step away.

"He never said we couldn't talk to her."

"I highly doubt you were planning on having a debate," Malfoy was now examining his fingernails in the manor true to his family name. "And do you really want to tarnish yourself with a _Mudblood_? You'd shame your family, not to mention your poor sister. She'd never live it down."

Carrow thought about it for a moment before moving away from Hermione and towards the door, "I wasn't planning on doing nothing, but I'll leave all the same."

"Good man," Malfoy replied sarcastically, patting him on the back and ushering him on his way. To Hermione's surprise, with Carrow gone, Malfoy and Snape still stayed behind.

The three stood awkwardly staring at one another before Hermione finally spoke, "I suppose I should—."

Snape quickly cut her off, "Hardly. We weren't here to save you, Granger, so didn't get any delusions of knights in shining armor. The Dark Lord wishes for you to be fitted into something other than that flimsy and increasingly disgusting dress of yours."

Hermione looked down at the once white chiffon dress she'd worn to her date with Ron and to dinner with his family. The weeks living in the castle had left it covered in dust and grime, and the sea air made it perpetually damp and musty. Other than a large wash tub filled with hot water that appeared in Hermione's bedroom along with towels and soap every morning, Hermione had no opportunity to wash her clothing and certainly didn't want to walk around in her panties while she did so.

"Well I didn't pack for this occasion, so…" she replied caustically with a nonchalant shrug.

"Clearly," Malfoy's nose was wrinkled and he was fixing her with a look of utter disgust. "You are to be measured and new clothing will be commissioned for you as per the Dark Lord's orders."

Hermione blanched, "You're going to measure me?"

"No," Snape replied quickly, pulling a roll of measuring tape out of his pocket and setting it on the table along with a bright purple quill the likes of which she'd seen at Madame Malkin's before. "_These_ are going to measure you. Leave your measurements here when you're finished. I'll have Pettigrew pick them up."

Hermione blushed all the way down to her toes as the two men left, eyeing the measuring tape and quill doubtfully. Finally, figuring that a set of new clothing wouldn't hurt her, she grabbed a sheet of parchment and set the quill on it before picking up the measuring tape, which immediately sprung to life and began measuring her every angle as the quill took notes. Though she was alone in the room, Hermione felt oddly exposed and utterly humiliated and was very grateful once the whole process was over. Her will to read gone, Hermione left behind the parchment and decided to grab something out of the kitchen before retreating to her bedroom and hiding out for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, the burgundy-walled dining room was empty, and the kitchen was devoid of any of the house elves that Hermione assumed lived in the basement. Some of the roughly hewn cabinets had been charmed to keep food cold and fresh and Hermione grabbed herself a few strawberries out of a crate and ate them blithely, looking around at the ancient kitchen with interest. She hadn't had a good look around the kitchen, seeing as she spent most of her day in her bedroom or in the library, and was surprised by the lack of really anything inside of it. The house elves probably cooked food over the fireplace, where a cauldron and a Dutch oven sat, and prepared everything on the wooden tables that served as sideboards, but if it hadn't been for some of the charm work someone had thought to do, the kitchen would be utterly unusable. It was odd that Voldemort, who considered himself to be all about the future, would allow his home to be so hindered by the past.

Any further examination was interrupted by the sound of the dining room door opening from the vestibule and several people walking inside. Hermione moved so that she was out of sight, heart pounding her chest as she eyed the back door leading to the outside. But the conversation temporarily caught her interest.

"—don't see why the Dark Lord is so insistent that we keep her. She's just a waste of space, if you ask me," Avery's voice was easily recognizable after so many years spent fighting him. Hermione pressed herself even closer to the wall as she heard him drawing closer towards the liquor cabinet near the kitchen doorway.

"He has plans for the little mudblood, Avery, you know that," the sound of Dolohov's husky, gravel-like tones sent chills up Hermione's spine. It was only sheer will that kept her from immediately bolting towards the back door and making good her escape. Surely if Dolohov caught her alone he'd do unspeakable things to her. "Bigger and less unseemly plans than my own, I'm afraid. He wants to use her as a weapon."

"Yes, yes, I've heard all that before," Avery gesticulated wildly, smacking his elbow off of the swinging kitchen door, which pushed back slightly. Hermione jumped out of the way to avoid being noticed. "Ouch."

"Watch yourself, there. You don't want to damage our Lord's precious little castle," she was surprised by the amount of contempt in Dolohov's voice; Hermione had always assumed that most Death Eaters operated on the same wavelength as Bellatrix Lestrange. Apparently not.

Avery's voice took on whining tone, "I _hate _it here. Couldn't we stay somewhere nicer? Maybe with a little air conditioning, or, I don't know, an indoor privvy?"

The conversation having turned in a rather boring direction, Hermione crept across the kitchen, ready to dive to the floor should Avery accidentally smack the door again, but he'd moved towards Dolohov with their drinks in hand and both men seemed to be settling down at the dining room table. Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance. Didn't they have something else they could be doing?

Figuring that she probably didn't want to know the answer to that, she carefully opened the back door of the kitchen, stepping barefoot onto the soft grass of the little herb garden that the house elves had cultivated outside. The neat little rows of herbs and the occasional patches of vegetable were pleasing to the eye, and Hermione had spent more than a few hours just sitting out there, trying to relax out of the sight of the Death Eaters.

_I hate this place. _

Hermione sighed to herself as she walked past the herb garden and turned around to look at the awkward, ugly, castle. Like most manors, the majority of it was only one floor, though the tower in the North wing that made up Hermione's bedroom, and one in the West that was the library both jutted noticeably into the air, though from the outside they looked as if they were about to topple over into the ocean at any moment. No doubt it was centuries old magic that was keeping the castle together and not Morgan Le Fay's architectural skills.

Strolling away from the castle aimlessly, Hermione wondered what her friends were up to. Had Ginny been forced to end her trip because of her friend's kidnapping? Were Harry and Ron terribly worried about her? What about poor Molly? Though Hermione had been throwing herself a pity party recently, she didn't like the idea of her friends cancelling their lives because of her. Surely the Order was hot on the case and already planning a great way to save her. If they ever found Avalon, that was. Or had any idea where she was in the first place.

No, Hermione decided, she hoped that after a while things would return to normal. Harry and Ron would do well in their Auror training, Ginny would make an excellent wandmaker's apprentice, and Luna would continue petitioning for the bramble eating snarflacks, or whatever new creatures she'd picked up on this week. And Molly, of course, would have Charlie to keep her company while Arthur was at work. Surely she wouldn't be _too _worried with so many distractions.

Hermione knew it had only been a few weeks, but her boredom and overall malaise had made it seem like years. She eyed a patch of coastline, visible between the lush trees and the corner of the southern wing of the castle, and started heading towards it, not knowing what her own intentions were. Surely all of this was some new psychological game that Voldemort was playing with her to get her to crack, and Hermione was beginning to worry that it was working. She rounded the corner of the south wing and looked down the high cliff to the jagged rocks below. If she jumped, Voldemort would make sure news of her death would reach the general public in order to lower morale even more. If she jumped, the Order would no longer be in danger and she would no longer be in this dreadful purgatory of an island.

Hermione stopped analyzing the situation a moment later, her feet unconsciously picking up the pace as the edge of the cliff became nearer and nearer as she began sprinting awkwardly through the slick soil and onto the even slicker rock, struggling to keep her balance because she couldn't afford to fall and hurt herself before she made it to the edge.

Suddenly she knew what Dumbledore felt like during the battle in the Astronomy Tower. Falling from such heights felt more like flying than anything, and though Hermione dreaded the sensation, she welcomed it. Sea spray splashed her face and closed eyes as she drew closer and closer to the jagged rocks she knew were beneath her splayed body.

And then, something odd happened. Hermione stopped feeling like Dumbledore and started feeling like the odd combination of a boomerang and toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube, in reverse. An odd pressure and stretching sensation overcame Hermione as she found herself flying backwards back _up _the cliff face, and towards the west wing, where she squeezed through the cracks in the window pane easily, as if she were nothing more than a whiff of air. Until she was suddenly very, very solid and smacking onto a very, very hard stone floor.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione," came a frighteningly familiar voice from the doorway. "Didn't I tell you that you were tethered to this island? There's no escaping it so accept it, embrace it, as you must eventually accept and embrace me, my little pet."

Voldemort stood in the doorway looking stoic and intimidating, Hermione looked up at him with fear bubbling in her chest.

"No," the word came out as more than a whimper, but the Dark Lord heard her well enough.

"We're all realists here, Hermione. You and I both know that you aren't getting off of this island any time soon. If you cooperate a bit more, we can make this a pleasant experience. You could grow to love Avalon the way I do."

"I _won't _be your weapon," she snarled in response, momentarily taking the Dark Lord off guard, to Hermione's satisfaction.

His voice turned dangerous, "Who said that you would be a weapon, my pet?"

Hermione felt no need to protect anybody in this castle, let alone the man who had tried to kill her when she was a fifth year, "Dolohov mentioned it earlier."

Voldemort stared at her for a moment, and Hermione could feel him prodding at her mind, trying to seek out whether or not she was lying. After a moment, she felt the presence recede as the rage within him, so well hidden before, suddenly became part of his very aura. The room began to vibrate slightly, the windows rattling loudly in their panes, and Hermione was suddenly very aware of the immense power of the wizard standing before her. Voldemort abruptly turned and left the room, robes billowing out behind him, doors slamming and locking Hermione inside as he left presumably for the east wing.

Hermione curled up beneath the window, leaning against one of the bookcases, trying not to listen as Dolohov's screams of agony flooded the castle. She had no pity for the Death Eater, but the sound of _anyone _being tortured was an unpleasant one. Covering her ears, she hummed the Hogwarts school song, or at least her version of the tune, since no official music existed for it. For some reason, the danger and intrigue she was subjected to yearly in Hogwarts seemed much better than the situation she was stuck in right now. Above five minutes after they had begun, the screams abruptly stopped, much to Hermione's relief. She didn't care whether or not Voldemort had left him alive; all she cared about was that they would all leave her alone from now on. Hermione very much doubted she'd get must more information as to the purpose of her capture from them, but she was hoping she'd also get far less lecherous remarks and ill-hidden threats from them as well.

"Granger!" Hermione looked up sharply, finding Professor Snape standing unexpectedly close to her and looking rather peeved. "What's wrong with you? I've been calling your name."

"Oh," she replied faintly. "I didn't hear."

"Apparently not," Snape muttered. "Get up, the Dark Lord requests you join us for dinner tonight. I recommend you obey his request."

Hermione struggled to stand, the thoughts of Dolohov's screaming enough to force her into obedience. A wave of dizziness swept over her for a moment and Hermione swayed on her feet, Snape grabbing hold of her arm before she could crash into one of the bookshelves.

"Are you ill?" he demanded, sounding irritated. Hermione shook her head 'no', which satisfied him well enough to drag her along beside him. "Granger, I know that the Dark Lord has attempted to keep up an informal dialogue with you, but you shouldn't attempt it in front of the others. Bellatrix, especially, will not react well to any impudence. Just be polite, you shouldn't be forced to talk much. Any insults the others hurl at you will probably be at a minimum in the Dark Lord's presence."

"Why is that?" Hermione's curiosity got the best of her, despite the animosity combined with indifference that Snape had been showing her for the past few weeks.

"He wants you to stay comfortable and feel wanted. It's all a part of a mind game, Hermione, do you understand that?" Snape had suddenly stopped them short of the entrance to the east wing. She nodded exuberantly, and though she had so many more questions, allowed him to guide her inside of the room. She wasn't surprised to see that Dolohov wasn't at the table. She _was, _however, surprised to see that Voldemort had left the seat at his right hand empty for her to sit in. Further down the table with her husband and brother-in-law, Bellatrix glared murderously at the suddenly very nervous Hermione as she took her seat.

"So good of you to join us," Voldemort said almost pleasantly. "It's about time we got a new face at the dinner table. Conversation has been a bit—lacking—lately."

"I see," Hermione replied, looking suspiciously at the food on her plate. Noting her paranoia, the Dark Lord reached out and picked up her wine glass, taking a sip from it himself.

"It isn't poisoned, Hermione. I already told you that I don't plan on killing you. Besides, you should know by now that when it comes to murder, poison is _not _a method I use. I find it cowardly not to face the people you are about to kill."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from mentioning Harry's parents, looking down at the food on her plate and just nodding blankly. She ate a little from her plate, half-listening to the contrived conversations the Death Eaters were having with their Master, and was about to reach for her wine glass when Snape caught her eye. Almost unnoticeably, he shook his head.

Hermione didn't know why she suddenly trusted the man who terrorized her as a child and tried to kill one of the greatest wizards of all time, but she released the wine glass and instead reached for the pepper in a smooth enough movement to disguise what had taken place. She wasn't involved in any conversation for most of the night until, quite abruptly, Voldemort turned to fix her in his crimson stare.

"So, Miss Granger, what is your family like?"

She almost spit out the chicken in her mouth at the question. Why in the world was Voldemort asking questions about her family? Since when was he interested in Muggles?

"Oh, they're just simple muggle folks," she replied with a shrug. "Dentists."

"What about your grandparents?"

The questioning went on like that for the rest of the night, Hermione giving noncommittal answers and Voldemort prodding her with more and more questions, not just about her family but about school and work, nothing too personal or inquisitive, just persistent. Whenever Hermione seemed reluctant to answer something, he suggested she have some more wine, and she'd quickly contrive yet another vague answer. By the end of the night she was utterly exhausted by the whole charade and excused herself to go to bed not long after midnight.

The next morning was not unlike any other, except that a simple but pretty dress accompanied the morning delivery of soap, towel, and wash basin of hot water. Hermione bathed quickly, hesitating before putting on the dress in order to avoid a conflict with Voldemort. She didn't much care for being his pet. Normally she wouldn't mind sitting around all day and having access to one of the greatest wizarding libraries on the planet, but Hermione was feeling more and more oppressed every day. She needed to be able to wander the wide expanse of Ottery St. Catchpole and stroll through Diagon Alley. Just seeing the simple interior of the castle and the plain grounds all day was really starting to get to her. It shocked her to think that Narcissa Malfoy had lived her life doing exactly this every day all day, though the woman hadn't seemed like much of a reader to Hermione, so she probably didn't even do that. Though she was often closer to broke than not, Hermione suddenly very much appreciated her simple lifestyle.

She made her way to the eighty-eighth step on the first try and into the great hall, which was devoid of life so early in the morning. The Dark Lord tended to be up by six in the morning, but everyone else usually slept in until noon. Obviously he was off attending to business, perhaps not even on the island, so Hermion puttered around the great hall for a while before heading into the vestibule, intending to go to the kitchen for some breakfast.

Only to find herself face-to-face with a very angry looking Avery.

"I was wondering when you would be waking up, mudblood," he sneered, his eyes glittering with hate as he raised his wand. "You need to learn a little something about minding your own business, don't you?"

Hermione gulped, backing towards the doorway into the great hall, hoping to escape back up to her room. Her back met bare wall, the door was two feet to her right. It was too late.

"_Crucio_!" Avery screamed at the top of his lungs.

A/N: Thanks to sylphides, jessirose85, BlewStarr101, LM1991, and Sonseeahray for their reviews, and to everyone who added me to their story alerts! I hope you guys liked this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I'm sooo sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up. I know there's no good excuse, but I've been uber busy lately. Review me!

_The Previous Chapter:_

"_I was wondering when you would be waking up, mudblood," he sneered, his eyes glittering with hate as he raised his wand. "You need to learn a little something about minding your own business, don't you?"_

_Hermione gulped, backing towards the doorway into the great hall, hoping to escape back up to her room. Her back met bare wall, the door was two feet to her right. It was too late. _

"Crucio_!" Avery screamed at the top of his lungs._

Chapter Four

"_Protego_!" the voice was loud, self-assured and certainly not Hermione's. Having been in the midst of preparing herself for the horrible torture soon to come, Hermione cracked her eyes open just in time to watch the Cruciatus Curse bounce off of the shield her new savior had cast.

Emerging from the door right behind Hermione was a woman that she had never seen amongst the Death Eaters before, dressed in dark, makeshift-looking clothing and wearing a ragged cloak. Avery glared at her venomously and the woman stepped forward, making him back off slightly.

"What do _you _want?" he spat, looking at her as if she were something on the bottom of his shoe.

"You _know _the Dark Lord doesn't want anyone dicking around with his pet, Avery," she warned him, looking as if she were about to start a pretty vicious fight. Hermione wisely began edging around the vestibule towards the dining room door, Avery's eyes following her every move.

"Don't interfere with my business, or you're going to get it!" he warned one of them, though Hermione wasn't sure which. Either way, the woman standing between them seemed fairly peeved.

"Let's have a talk," she suggested, gesturing towards the door leading to the Death Eaters' living quarters. As the Death Eaters disappeared through the doorway, Hermione made her way into the dining room as she fought to stay calm. So far, she had been lucky. The Dark Lord didn't want her dead for one reason or another and most of the threats towards her had been headed off. Hermione had gone through enough to know that luck typically didn't last.

Carefully, she lowered herself into one of the ornate seats, running her trembling hands through her hair. All she was doing was waiting to die, which was nothing like the hero's death she'd supposed she would have.

"I see that yet again you've managed to escape harm thanks to the intercession of others," Hermione jumped at the sound of Snape's voice. She had thought she was alone. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, he sneered down at her hatefully.

"What are you doing here?" she asked reflexively, hands gripping the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Snape seemed to notice, because he toned down his dominant stance a bit by moving to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. Hermione couldn't believe what early drinkers Death Eaters were, though in retrospect it probably shouldn't have been surprising. The conversation she'd overheard between Avery and Dolohov had only been a little after noon, and she'd narrowly avoided a drunk and stumbling Bellatrix Lestrange ranting her way through the castle more than once.

"What one normally does in a dining room," he replied, sitting across from her with a snifter of brandy. "I am eating."

With a snap of his fingers, the long-awaited house elves finally appeared out of thin air, setting down several trays of food and putting empty plates in front of Snape and Hermione.

"What would Miss like to drink?" asked one of the pathetic creatures, dressed just as poorly as Dobby had been during their second year. Of course, restarting SPEW under Voldemort's capture probably wasn't a wise decision.

"Breakfast tea, please," she requested promptly and the creature returned a moment later with boiling water and a box of (very detestable) tea bags.

_Of course the most evil wizard in the world would use tea bags! _Hermione frowned slightly to herself, preparing her own tea and ladling scrambled eggs and sausage onto her plate. The whole set up reminded her distinctly of Hogwarts, though this time there weren't nearly enough people sitting around the table to empty all of the tureens. Surely, most of it would be thrown away once they were finished. The decadence and wastefulness of it all made Hermione blanche.

"How are you finding yourself?" Professor Snape asked her, almost uncomfortably. Then again, Hermione didn't picture him as the kind of person who could sit in silence at a breakfast table. Yes, he'd always been rather unfriendly, but he was also terribly intelligent. He couldn't just focus on his food and stay silent, he'd have to say something or have a distraction the way that Hermione always did.

"Alright," she replied quietly, feeling rather awkward. Other than his continuous belittling and her constant searching for appraisal during her time at Hogwarts, she'd never really held a conversation with Professor Snape the way she could with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"Yes, well... good."

They ate in silence for a few moments before Hermione finally couldn't take it anymore.

"What's going to happen to me, Professor Snape?" her voice sounded small and childish, neither of which she particularly cared for. She'd never felt so vulnerable before.

Snape had clearly been taken aback, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the blatant question or that she still called him 'Professor'. He took his time, sipping his brandy, before he finally answered her.

"It's not something that I can tell you, myself," he replied. "Not just because of the severe penalties, but because there are a very few of us who know fully what the Dark Lord has planned for you, and I am not one of them."

"Oh."

Silence resumed once again. Hermione sipped her tea. She was rapidly losing her appetite as her mind became preoccupied on what else Lord Voldemort could have planned for her. Snape could clearly see the rather lost look on her face, else he wouldn't have spoken again.

"He doesn't plan on killing you, Miss Granger. I don't know if that is a comfort to you, but there it is," he said shortly, taking a bite of eggs.

Hermione felt nauseous all of the sudden, "But why me?"

Professor Snape sat thoughtfully for a moment, looking her over with an unreadable expression. When he spoke his words were unexpected.

"Perhaps he wishes to keep your for himself. It is understandable why the Dark Lord would be more willing to look over one muggle-born if she happened to be attractive and intelligent. He's certainly watched you mature over the years as you and Potter bested all of us, including myself. Potter is recklessly brave, Weasley is terribly loyal, but _you_, Miss Granger, are the only one of the lot with more than fluff between your ears. The Dark Lord disdains bravery, laughs at loyalty, but he has a deep and true respect for intelligence."

Hermione had been waiting _years_ for him to recognize her intelligence the way that others had, and this was when it happened? While she was the captive of Lord Voldemort? When she had finally been outsmarted by the evil she had utterly underestimated?

_The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the word he didn't exist. _At the same time that Hermione was pledging to stop reading quotes books, she was also recognizing the utter truth 

behind the words. She could be the most intelligent witch in the country, but she was still too stupid to realize how evil Voldemort truly was. She'd seen it before, fought against it before, but she never truly understood it, in the same way that she didn't understand how the Lestranges could torture the Longbottoms or how the mothers in the newspapers could kill their own children. Being intelligent and being wise were two different things, after all, and Hermione was incredibly intelligent but didn't have an ounce of wisdom in her.

_No wonder I was captured, _she realized regretfully. _I'm a dunderhead. _

Snape must've read something in her silence, because he was quick to speak again, "What do you make of the castle?"

"I'm a bit unimpressed," Hermione replied, grateful for the change of topic. "After the charm on the stairs, I thought there would be plenty of mysteries to keep me occupied, but there really aren't, other than the spatial displacement you can see between the west tower on the inside and the west tower on the outside, though I've seen it done before in Hogwarts."

"I always appreciated Morgan Le Fay's work with inter-dimensional spells," Snape observed. "You'll find a few manuscripts she wrote on the topic in the library to your liking. She opened up a whole new set of doors for wizarding kind to go through, though very few chose to explore them."

Hermione set down her fork pensively, "Well, why not?"

"During her time, Morgan Le Fay was a much-disliked woman, so her work was censored after her death."

"Why?" Hermione couldn't help herself.

Snape gave her an irritated look, setting down his brandy snifter before he could take another sip from it, "Because she was an insufferable know-it-all. When her muggle half-brother Arthur took the throne and married Guinevere, Morgan Le Fay was under the tutelage of Merlin, and through him she 

learned charms that she eventually manipulated in order to create inter-dimensional pockets. All of this was very genius, of course, until she found out that her brother's wife was an adulteress, and in a very Dumbledorian manner set out clues so that he could figure it out himself. In the process, she ruined Arthur's life and his relatively happy marriage. Merlin was angry that she had gone over his head in the matter, and banished her to remain on Avalon until she was truly needed. In the meantime, she penned some of the greatest texts of all time and invented magic that had never been seen before. Every bottomless bag you've ever used is a bastardization of one of the greatest magical minds of all time."

"You would've allowed a sibling and a friend to go on without knowing of their spouse's infidelity, then?" Hermione asked, outraged.

_Poor Morgan, _she thought sadly. _She was only doing what she thought was best. _

"Of course you would agree with her," Snape threw up his hands in contempt. "There are some matters, Granger, that should not be manipulated and should be allowed to come to fruition on their own. It took Dumbledore one hundred and fifty years to learn that, and I hope it will only take you nineteen."

"But if she hadn't helped Arthur realize that Guinevere was cheating on him, Merlin wouldn't have created the Order of Merlin, and he certainly wouldn't have focused so much on keeping muggles in the dark about wizarding kind. Muggle technology would never have been able to blossom the way it has, and we would probably be repressed by beings that grossly out number us, or worse, wiped out by hatred and fascism."

Snape bitterly drank in the irony, "Yes, and instead we attempt to do the same to them. Either way, one of us has to come out on top: us or them. It's human nature that in the end, nobody actually wins. "

Hermione fell silent. She hadn't thought of it that way. Snape took another sip of his brandy.

"It's all very depressing isn't it? The hopelessness," she finally said.

"Indeed. Without the Order's protection, muggles would truly be doomed."

Snape quickly excused himself from the table.

"How has Draco been?"

The question noticeably ruffled Lucius as he and Severus sat across from each other in the common room of the east wing, but Severus didn't back down. The last few years had not been kind to the Malfoy family, and he could no longer keep silent on the subject of his missing godson.

Lucius turned the page of the Daily Prophet, not looking up from the pages though his shoulders had stiffened considerably, "He's no longer in the care of Greyback. I believe that he's now back in the Manor guarded by Rookwood, Yaxley and Jugson."

His indifferent tone sounded strained. After Narcissa's death, Severus had watched his friend build more and more walls around himself in order to protect his son from the same fate. If the Dark Lord had any idea of the deep and very real love that Lucius had for his child, Draco would have been the one to die and not his mother.

In life, she'd been a charming woman, beautiful and charismatic. She made an excellent trophy wife for Lucius, and was backed up by a good, pureblood family and a healthy dowry, but that was the end of the appeal of Narcissa Black. She hadn't been very intelligent, having been taught to focus more on her looks than on her learning, and had the same ugly, snotty demeanor characteristic of most Slytherin girls, though she managed to hide it well enough. Severus had liked her because she was his friend's wife, and the mother of his beloved godson, but nothing more. And Lucius—it had been an arranged marriage, and he hadn't expected any love to blossom from it, especially when his new bride cried all the way through their honeymoon and slept in a separate bedroom. If she hadn't been such a good mother to Draco and a generally caring wife, he would've rid himself of her long ago, when he was far younger and more callous.

Lucius turned the page again, his expression blank, "Did you see we have a visitor?"

Severus merely nodded. It wasn't often anyone other than the inner members of the circle came to Avalon, especially without the Dark Lord's express permission. Even the crowd that they had now was larger than usual, several of the members had been invited purely as protection and security; it seemed that the Dark Lord was slightly less confident in his hiding spot now that Granger was there.

"I imagine it must be important," Severus finally said. "She wouldn't have come, otherwise."

"Avery was looking rather worse for the wear once she arrived. Bothering Granger, I suppose?"

"Yes. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if he hears as much. He ordered that she be left alone. Of course, he would've wanted to dole out the punishment so I imagine our visitor will end up on the chopping block as well. What did she do to him?"

"The knee-reversing hex," Lucius looked up from his paper as he spoke, his voice still sounding bored though his grey eyes twinkled as if he were tempted to laugh. "Very primeval. It took nearly an hour to get his knees the right way again, and he still isn't walking. Bella thought it was hilarious."

"Bella _would _think it was hilarious," Severus commented darkly.

_Nearly as funny as all of the manipulation going on in this bloody place. _

Severus had never had a positive opinion of the female third of the Golden Trio, but he had noted her peculiar innocence and amazing intelligence through the years. It was a bit disheartening to watch the Dark Lord breaking her down to turn her over to his side. Doubtlessly, the innocence would be long gone in a very short amount of time. The Dark Lord always worked fast.

"You're thinking about Granger again," this time Lucius didn't sound bored, but intrigued. He set his newspaper on the coffee table, casting a silencing charm over the room with a careless flick of his wand, and looked Severus straight in the eye. "Is she cracking already?"

Severus shook his head pityingly, "Close to it. She looked close to a breakdown this morning."

This news made Lucius frown as he leaned back in his armchair.

"That's not good."

"No," Severus agreed. "It's not. I'm going to have to find a way to take her mind off of everything. She mustn't succumb."

"What do you have in mind?"

Severus smiled, his dark eyes glittering as he folded his hands, steepling his fingers as he contemplated the possibilities. It'd been a while since he'd been around someone like Hermione Granger and he certainly wouldn't mind exploring some possibilities with her.

"Don't worry. I already have something in mind."


End file.
